


The Grand Scheme of Things

by EschalotteTheDestroyer, Warriorformerlyknownasprince



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EschalotteTheDestroyer/pseuds/EschalotteTheDestroyer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warriorformerlyknownasprince/pseuds/Warriorformerlyknownasprince
Summary: All three Saiyans arrive on Earth with the aim of recruiting Goku and launching a rebellion against the infamous Lord Frieza. Vegeta finds himself a bit distracted by a certain scientist … and is starting to realize there is more to this strange planet than meets the eye.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Bulma Briefs/Yamcha
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38
Collections: Vegebul First Dates





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warriorformerlyknownasprince writing Vegeta  
> EschalotteTheDestroyer writing Bulma

-Vegeta-

_Log 5.11.742_

_It has been 6 months since our defection. The group has subscribed to a false sense of security. Earth is quaint and remote. I suppose to them Frieza feels far away. It may be true in the literal sense, but he looms in my mind._

_My duplicity is a known quantity to Frieza. I'm sure he is already aware of our defection. We missed a checkpoint on Arlia two weeks ago. For him, our elimination is only quelled by a lack of resources._ ~~_If_ ~~ _When he identifies our hide-out, not many of his goon squads can take four Saiyans, not on a planet with a moon. And he won't send the Ginyu Force all the way out here without a real provocation. Of course, he would never come himself; that would be admitting to the universe that I am a threat. And more than that, rebellions are contagious: if there is any fanfare surrounding my defection, even if it's a show of punishment, how many copycats are out there, waiting for permission, waiting for a blueprint? He is not in a position to instigate a game of whack-a-mole. No, he will await my next move and feign order in the meantime. Let me exhaust myself running._

_I can't help but wonder if I have miscalculated somewhere. There is something about Earth, something I'm missing. My original plan was to keep moving. Impossible with the one pod as mangled as it is. Another problem, Kakarot refuses to leave, citing his family. I find this only half-convincing. He is an altruist and a Saiyan. The idea of a violent despot like Frieza both insults his worldview and excites his bloodlust. I haven’t yet convinced him to join us, at least not fully, but I can tell the idea of leaving this place pulls at him. I can sense him staring into the canyon, considering the leap, imagining a life outside of his farm with a squealing brat and a nagging wife._

_Raditz insists he needs time. Build trust, fraternity; he's young and malleable. Nappa dismisses him as a foreigner, too steeped in the baby-skinned ways of humans to be any real help to us. I still have my feet in both camps: Kakarot is not what I hoped he'd be, but he is one of us. Or he will learn to be. I have something he wants: a real challenge. A conquest. As for me, another Oozaru is invaluable._

_Places like Earth are hard to come by. Not totally uncivilized but still untouched by the machines of warring intergalactic enterprises. A rarity whose free status is surely nearing its expiration date. Regardless, we won't find many friendly worlds out there and maintain our anonymity. Even with any repairs the (no doubt inept) human mechanics can manage, our fuel is low. It is probably better we aren’t atrophying in stasis. So we train. I estimate we have a few more months until our hand is forced, but perhaps longer, if we continue to be lucky._

\---

The foliage on Mount Pouzu was ablaze with autumn colors. Even in the morning haze, the oranges and reds peeked through the mountain fog and gave a sense of warmth to the damp chill. The sun had just broken over the horizon and the air smelled of wet leaves and dense forest. The river babbled in the distance, chattering as it slipped over jagged rocks and lapped at the pebbled banks. Birds called from the tree tops and rustled around in the brush. 

Vegeta inhaled with a sense of peace that felt foreign to him. It had been a long time since he had a lungful of crisp, pure air like this. He supposed he had gotten quite used to the recycled air of space stations because he forgot how refreshing a breath could be. 

He peeled off the top of his jumpsuit and waded into the frigid river, clamping down on the involuntary gasp with a grunt at the coldness. He swam up to the opposite bank and heaved himself up on a rocky ledge to sit cross-legged beneath a thin waterfall, letting the freezing water pound his head and shoulders until his mind went blank behind his eyes. He stayed there until he stopped shaking and his breath was controlled, his mantra as steady as the beat of his heart: _revenge._

He was feeling quite serene by the time he ambled back up the path to the campsite. The sun had fully risen, flooding the mountain top with its golden light. Raditz and Nappa’s tents remained undisturbed, the two still snoring open-mouthed in their sleeping bags. Kakarot was not yet here either, though when Vegeta raised his nose to the breeze he caught a whiff of the woodfire stove burning at their cottage. Kakarot would come bounding through the woods like a Labrador any minute now, still licking the grease of breakfast from his chops. 

It felt almost sacrilege to break the silence of this beautiful morning. Vegeta almost felt bad as he sauntered over to the old picnic table, its sagging benches slick with morning dew and moldering brown leaves. Hell, who was he kidding? He took great pleasure in causing chaos. He grabbed an iron skillet and a saucepan and began clanging the two together. 

Birds took off flapping, the trees swaying with their panicked escapes. Nappa’s tent moved first, his giant frame straining against the flimsy poles before the zipper released him, bald head first, and then shoulders and knees. He stumbled to his hindlegs with the grace of a newborn grizzly bear. Raditz only managed to half undo his flap, his hand falling limply to the ground again after a feeble signal that he was awake. 

“Morning, ladies.” Vegeta drawled. “Take a lap, get warmed up. Get back here in 30. Drills.” 

He dropped the cookware on the table and strode to his own abode, a rusted-out, pill-shaped trailer. Raditz had taken to calling it the Taj-Ma’tent, but there was nothing luxurious about it, except it had a mini-fridge (that was powerless and released a rancid smell when opened), a table, some counter space, and a proper bed with a stiff mattress. He supposed it beat sleeping in a tent with insects and vermin crawling about, but he wouldn’t call it comfortable. ChiChi had offered it in lieu of an actual room and board in their cottage, which was a humble place already packed with Kakarot, their mewling toddler and herself. She remarked she wasn’t sure why they hadn’t junked it after their honeymoon. 

“We hitched it to the back of a pickup truck and travelled the country. Before Gohan. It’s a nice little RV. Maybe I’ll fix it up one day.” She gave Vegeta a proud little smile; he had only given her a blank look in return. He didn’t know what a honeymoon was and didn’t care, but he was happy to take the trailer for himself if it meant he didn’t have to listen to that weepy brat or sleep on the ground. 

Nappa gave him a respectful nod as the prince made his way past, but out of the corner of his eye Vegeta saw him run a baseball-mitt-sized hand over his bald head in a gesture of exasperation. Vegeta powered up to dry himself, his wet hair springing back to life. He pulled his jumpsuit top back over his head and sat blithely in the Adirondack chair outside the trailer, watching as Nappa and Raditz stepped into their shoes and took off running, stumbling in their bleariness. Vegeta didn’t care if they thought he was a militant bastard, as long as they knew he was an _efficient_ militant bastard. 

The bugs were just starting to piss him off enough to get up and run behind his fellows, but Kakarot broke into the clearing, his bright orange clothing straining Vegeta’s eyes in the morning sun. He made a noise of irritation. And then full disgust when he saw the woman and child in tow. 

“Good morning, my liege!” Goku called cheerily, feigning a bow. Vegeta gritted his teeth. The humans seemed to think the title of prince was something to mock as antiquated and goofy. Kakarot was lucky he was in a good mood this morning. 

“You’re late. Catch up to Raditz and Nappa; they just left.” Vegeta grunted, waiving him off in the direction of their jog. Goku bounded off with a salute and a farewell to his family.

ChiChi had a basket in the crook of her elbow. Gohan stood close to her legs, weary. Vegeta gave a nod of greeting and she strolled over, setting the basket on the picnic table.

“I made you all some breakfast. Though it would seem you’re starting a bit earlier than usual.” There was nothing impolite about what she’d said, or even how she’d said it, yet Vegeta got the sense she was annoyed. He tilted his head and watched her as she set a mug out the table and poured something out of a tin pitcher. “Would you like some coffee?” The offer was anything but warm.

Vegeta shrugged one of his shoulders. “I would, yes.” He muttered a thanks as she brought it to him, splashing a bit of the burning liquid on his hand as she shoved it into his waiting hand. He was a bit perturbed that she took the chair next to him, nursing her own cup. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk with young mothers. Children were gross and annoying, and as far as he was concerned, so were their wards.

“So, princes don’t have to do warmups, then?” She gave him a sidelong look. Vegeta snorted, and pursed his lips before a grin could tug at the corners of his mouth. 

“I have my own routine.”

“I see.” She replied shortly. Vegeta had nothing to say to that, and so they watched the toddler waddle around the campsite for a long moment. ChiChi noticed Vegeta hadn't tried his coffee. “I have cream, if you prefer that. Or tea.” 

Vegeta shook his head, and stared for a moment at the black liquid in his cup. “It’s fine.” He took an exploratory sip and found that the statement was true: it was fine the way it was. Bitter and acidic, just like him.

Gohan poked around Raditz’s tent and picked up a blue canteen. "That's full of whiskey." Vegeta warned.

“Gohan, is it nice to rummage through other people’s things?” The child looked up with wide eyes and regarded the item in his chubby hands. Reluctantly, he shook his head. “Okay, well, let’s put it back where we found it then.” The child was obedient and turned to wander elsewhere. Vegeta narrowed his eyes at the hat he was wearing, which boasted a decorative little bauble at its top. 

“What’s that ball on his head?” Vegeta ventured. It seemed a bit odd. The boy had to keep pushing the hat back into place as it continued to slip around his head with the weight of it. The way the golden orb glinted seemed to nudge him somehow, like it was winking at him. It was a strange thought.

ChiChi coughed, gulping too eagerly on the hot coffee. “Excuse me.” She swiped at a drip on her chin, her eyes suddenly darting around in a way that made Vegeta narrow his eyes. “Oh, that? it’s, uh… it’s a family heirloom. I’m taking some pictures today.”

Vegeta took another sip of coffee and made a noise of acknowledgement, still eying the ball pensively. Something about it stuck in his craw, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“Listen,” ChiChi began, and Vegeta thought, _finally she’ll come out with whatever it is she wants._ “...I won’t pretend to fully understand your situation, or who _and what_ this Lord Frieza is,” she huffed, “and I want Goku to feel free to help his brother...” And Vegeta couldn’t help but feel like she’d pointedly _not_ mentioned him. “...And I suppose all the people affected by this mad tyrant.” She pressed her lips together and shot a look over at her son, who was waving around a stick, oblivious. “But Goku is coming home with some concerning injuries-”

Vegeta rolled his eyes behind his coffee cup as he poured the last sip into his mouth. “You are very smart to ply a Saiyan with food before you start a negotiation. Unfortunately, my training methods are non negotiable.”

“Goku has bruises the size of my head on both sides-”

“Then he should learn to dodge.”

ChiChi clicked her tongue angrily. "I'm no stranger to training, I am well aware that bumps and bruises come with the territory. But there is a difference between exerting yourself, and _punishing_ yourself. What you've been asking is beyond excessive-"

"Frieza genociding my entire race is excessive. This is nothing. Now, I appreciate the coffee and the food.” He nodded towards the basket. “The rest is not up for discussion."

ChiChi gave him a look that challenged, but just as she opened her mouth to argue, the trio breached the perimeter of the camp. Kakarot was in the lead and Raditz was close on his heels. As always, Kakarot was laughing, huffing as he set his hands on his knees. Raditz complained it wasn't really a fair race seeing as his brother had grown up in these woods and knew them by heart.

"Well, now you know the shortcut. But I bet I'll still beat you tomorrow." Goku teased.

Nappa pushed passed the two of them gruffly, his bald head gleaming with sweat. "I smell meat."

ChiChi stood and began her frenzied hostessing. There was bacon, sausage, beans, eggs, toast and butter. Vegeta considered calling them all off the spread to start the day's drills. A cute breakfast gathered around the old splintering table wasn't exactly what he had in mind for his grunts, but even he would have a hard time making the case with his own stomach grumbling. Let them eat before the drills if they must. Someone would be puking by lunch. He would make that his goal.

He strode up to the table and snatched Raditz's blue canteen from the man's hands as he aimed it over his coffee.

"No. Idiot. You're sober until sunset."

Raditz groaned, then put on the effect of a begging child. "But please, suh. Can’t I ‘ave some more?"

"Shut up." Vegeta huffed, though he betrayed a grin as he shoveled bacon on his plate.

_~ Bulma ~_

It was pretty damn obvious in hindsight. 

Goku had always been a laundry list of peculiarities stacked in an overly friendly trench coat masquerading as a human. But for some reason Bulma’s focus had always been on everything _but_ that rather glaring fact. 

In her defense, strange things had been happening to her all her life. Like being turned into a carrot. By a rabbit. 

Aliens were kind of tame at this point. 

That said, _Goku_ being an alien made an irritating amount of sense, and as much as Bulma wanted to insist that this revelation about her best friend wasn’t upsetting her, somehow all her recent projects and research kept ending up about space. 

Specifically _space travel._

Bulma sighed and wiped her forehead, pulling herself out of the desecrated remains of one of the Saiyan pods. The thing was barely recognizable anymore, having been painstaking cracked wide open. Panels and parts were scattered around her once-pristine lab, glinting in the skylight’s rays while the remainder of the body and seat had a maze of multi-colored cables running to and from it. 

She and her father had been picking the thing apart for a good few weeks now, Dr. Briefs assigning himself the task of reverse-engineering the engine, while Bulma tackled pretty much everything else, particularly the external alloy composition and the stasis function. She’d also been piecing together the -heh- alien language the pod’s interface used, and was getting to the point where she was tempted to hunt down one of Mount Paozu’s visitors solely to practice it on them (and find out what the hell it _sounded_ like.) 

She glanced over at the chronograph on her desk and caught herself wondering ‘AM or PM?’ before realizing the obvious, along with the fact that needing to ask probably wasn’t a good sign. Her limbs were stiff and her eyes sore, and she probably looked like shit, not that anyone would dare say so to her face. All things considered, she decided it was break time. 

Tossing off her work gloves and grabbing one of the sandwiches her mom had left out for her Kami knew how many hours ago, Bulma strolled out of her lab and headed for the larger rocket lab, guessing that’s where her dad was. She passed a couple of engineers in the hall, the two of them giving her a polite nod but also a wide berth, confirming Bulma’s suspicions that her appearance was probably somewhere between ‘engineering undergrad after 3 all-nighters’ and ‘I just got in a wrestling match with a jet engine’. Mentally upgrading her eminent shower to a long hot bath, she reached the rocket lab, punched in her code, and headed in. 

The space, while also filled with a decent amount of natural light, was far larger - mostly taller - than her lab. The chamber echoed with activity, power tools whirring to life for short bursts, a few voices trying to talk over the noise without shouting. There was a tangible energy to the air, and the second Bulma entered the lab proper, she understood why. 

Standing maybe a good 30 feet high, at the center of the activity, was an unapologetically complete-looking spaceship. 

Bulma’s mouth opened and closed a few times. They’d freed the Saiyan pod from bureaucratic red tape barely two _weeks_ ago. To her knowledge, her father had still been reverse-engineering the engine. As in, building a theoretical model. OF JUST THE ENGINE. She’d known her father was invested in the project but… _damn_.

Speaking of the wiley devil, Bulma heard the tell-tale flip-flop of sandals before glancing over to spot the unruly white mop of hair approaching her. In sharp contrast to his younger daughter’s temperament, Dr. Briefs was notoriously serene and laidback, often treating his accomplishments as casual topics of conversation or at worst, dismissing them all together, to the point of criminality. Yet Bulma didn’t miss the mischievous twinkle in his eye, no doubt at her expression. He’d done the impossible (again) and he knew it. 

He strolled over to stand next to her, turning to view the ship as she was. Graciously, he gave her a moment to collect herself. Somehow, the silence felt like a slight. He was teasing her in his curious way, the way only they understood. 

“...Dad, it was supposed to be a theoretical model.”

The crows-feet at the sides of his eyes deepened. 

“And indeed it is. It just happens to also be practical.” 

Bulma snorted, feeling a wave of affection for her old man. She gave his shoulders a side hug, smiling toothily. “Kami, if I wasn’t so tired I’d probably be vibrating. Dad, this is _incredible_.” She sighed contentedly, planting her hands on her hips. “When’s it going to be space-worthy?” 

The older Dr. Briefs adjusted his glasses. “Well, I’d still like to run some stress tests on that lovely external alloy of yours, just to be safe. But other than an application of that, I do believe she’s ready.”

Bulma shook her head. Crazy old man. 

“And how fast is she?” 

“Let’s see now, if we’re using the arrival of our extraterrestrial visitors as a measure, the same distance it took them about a year to transverse would take this ship roughly… 8 months, I do believe.”

Bulma wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or just general excitement making her lightheaded, but she swallowed a slightly-hysterical laugh and instead sighed. “Of course you improved it. That’s insane, Dad,” she quipped, sporting a definitely-not-manic smile herself. Then she gasped. “I need to tell everyone! They’ll love this! Oh my Kami!” Her hands flew to her face. “We can have adventures! In space! We can go exploring, and discover new technologies, and new _natural resources_ , and oh! We know there are other civilizations out there, we should begin forging alliances…” Bulma let a childing giggle escape her. “Can you imagine? The gorgeous, brilliant Earthling ambassador and her company of strapping men,” she gushed theatrically, only half-joking. 

Before her father could reply she clapped her hands together. “We need a party! A commemoration! Dad, this could be the start of a new era, no, a new _eon_ for the Earth as we know it! I need to tell everyone! I need to call the caterers, and start sending invites…” 

Dr. Briefs chuckled breezily. “Don’t forget dear, your mother is hosting the Bake for Broke charity this week…”

“Dammit! You’re right.” Bulma groused as her mood took a downward turn. “Shit, I’ll have to host it somewhere else… I’ll figure it out,” she huffed. 

“I have no doubt,” the older man smiled warmly. “Though, do try and avoid a media panic, would you dear?”

“Right, right,” Bulma replied distractedly. She briefly kissed the crown of her father’s white head before turning for the lab doors. “I’d better start preparing…” 

“I do hope some of those preparations involve removing engine grease from hair,” her father called after her with a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Bulma froze.

“...shit!”


	2. Chapter 2

-Vegeta-

The Saiyans makeshift training camp was spartan; it was a patch of forest cleared of brush so their floor was only soil, coal-black and fertile. Two canvas lawn chairs and a log acted as the bleachers. A nail in a nearby tree provided storage for a rucksack that only offered water (or in Raditz's case, a canteen full of bottom-shelf booze.)

Vegeta took the center of the square like a preacher to a pulpit. Some days he rallied them with stories of old battles and legendary warriors. Other days he bored them on the specifics of footwork, or ridiculed them for their sloppy technique the day prior. Still other days he stoked their rage with stories of Lord Frieza’s cruelty. Goku could tell today was going to be a bit different, and he whooped excitedly when Vegeta wondered aloud to the group if they should play a game. 

Raditz leaned into his brother’s shoulder: “Games are usually worse than regular practice, Rottie.”

Goku made a gesture of confusion. 

Nappa wondered gravely, “The Circle?”

Vegeta nodded. “Yes, I think it’s a day for The Circle. Make the boundary.” He gestured with his chin at Nappa, who jumped into the air and gathered his chi. He burned a circle in the center of a training camp, leaving the outline of an arena where it was apparent they would be training. 

“Which one of us is the monkey in the middle?” Raditz asked. Vegeta ignored him. 

“I was not planning to play The Circle today. In fact, I  _ was _ having an unusually calm morning…” Vegeta took a long pause, making a show of crossing his arms and slowly eyeing each of them. He lingered on Goku, who began to look sheepish under his wilting gaze. “But then Kakarot sicced his wife on me.”

“Uh oh…” Raditz nudged Goku in his sore ribs. “You’re the monkey in the middle.”

Goku looked more confused than usual. “What’s that mean? I didn’t-”

“Oh, don’t worry, Kakarot. She let me know. She told me that you feel the training is too difficult, and that we need to be more gentle with you. That you’ve been complaining of bumps and bruises.”

Goku squawked. “What? I never even mentioned-”

Vegeta ignored him, continued over him to the others: “What a paradigm of Saiyan manhood we have here, boys. Sends his woman to bitch and moan and plead on his behalf.” Vegeta shook his head in disgust. “Not even man enough to say it to my face.”

Nappa and Raditz hissed and booed, playing the jury in Vegeta’s court. Goku held up his hands in surrender, “Woah, woah, none of that is even true!”

“Pretty pathetic, Kakarot. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Nappa tucked his chin and chuckled. Goku continued to sputter that it didn’t happen. 

Raditz cackled, teasing, “Aw, if I ask, will Mommy-ChiChi kiss my boo-boos, too?”

Goku’s brows hitched darkly. “That is not funny!”

Nappa gave a hacking laugh. “Yea, me too, I’ve got one right on the tip of my-”

“Quiet! The lot of you!” Vegeta commanded. Goku had already stood up, glare pointed at the bald goliath, the serious expression on his features a bit disorienting relative to his typical cheery demeanor. Vegeta was already patting himself on the back for singling Kakarot out. It was hard to get a rise out of him; personal insults never stuck, he only ever laughed when they told him he was stupid, or poor, or weak. Now, it appeared he really was no different than them- insult his manhood and his woman, and the fuse was lit.  _ This is what he needs. The anger. The pride. Something to defend. Something to light a fire under his ass. _

“Simmer down, Kakarot. You'll get a shot at him. In fact, you’ll get a shot at all of us. On Saiya, when a Saiyan’s honor was challenged, he or she took to the Circle to defend their pride against their accusers. We accuse you of cowardice. There will be three one on one matches, back to back. You move to the next match even if you lose. You lose more than you win, the charge stands. You win more than you lose, you are redeemed.” Vegeta gestured to the ring. “Your objective is to knock your opponent out of the ring. There are no rules, except to stay conscious and in bounds.” 

Goku sized up the circle, which was tight, but enough room for him to work in. It was doable. Abruptly, he got a smug look about him. “What happens if I win all three?” 

Vegeta scoffed, then laughed; it was a ridiculous thought, but he liked the attitude. “If by the grace of the gods, you win all three, I’ll ...” Vegeta sighed, contemplating. Kakarot could never knock him out of the ring, so it didn’t matter much what he promised. “I’ll owe you a favor. Whatever you want. Within reason.” Vegeta crossed his arms and then added with narrowed eyes. “Nothing weird.” 

Goku studied Vegeta for a long moment before nodding his understanding. 

“We go in order of rank. You’ll fight Raditz, Nappa, then me.”

Goku shook his head in the negative, his expression serious. “Nappa first.” 

Vegeta smirked, his eyes sliding over to Nappa, who immediately protested: “It’s decided by rank. I’m not a first string fighter, Kakarot.”

A wolfish grin cut across Raditz’s face. “What’s the matter Pops, you don’t want to fight if I don’t wear him out for you first?” Nappa clenched his fist and brandished it at Raditz. 

Raditz ignored him and turned to Vegeta, imploring, tongue-in-cheek, putting on a full show: “This is my brother. Nappa suggested my sweet, beautiful sister-in-law, who fed us just this morning, should fellate him. My wise and just prince, surely you will consider that tradition must be bucked in this instance?” 

Vegeta betrayed a chuckle. He took in Kakarot, still fuming and serious, looking more Saiyan than he’d ever seen him look before. Nappa would probably pummel the kid, but Vegeta was curious to see the human-raised warrior fight with real Saiyan rage. The prince thought he should let Kakarot have a shot at his revenge, fresh. Vegeta raised his chin, feigning rumination on the issue. 

“The innuendo was uncalled for.” He flared his hand in the mock-gesture of a king. “I will grant Kakarot’s request.” Then, as he stalked to the canvas chair, he said in his typical gruffness: “Get in the ring, Nappa.”

Nappa shot a nasty look at Raditz, who gave him the finger and a sarcastic smile. He growled but began swinging his shoulders in warm up. “All right, Kakarot, if you’d like to start your losing streak now, be my guest.” 

Goku, already in the ring’s center, ignored the taunt and instead cracked his neck. He sunk into his stance. Nappa sauntered over and scoffed, saying over his shoulder: 

“I can’t take this kid seriously with his little poses. He-”

Nappa didn’t finish whatever insult he was about to hurl, as the sole of Goku’s boot connected with his mouth, shredding his top lip against the edge of his front teeth. Goku jumped back furtively, watching the giant reel on his heels. Nappa remained standing after a few steps back, a slick red rivet running down his chin.

Goku knew his main goal was to avoid getting hit. He had the advantage in the tight circle; he was fast and nimble where Nappa was massive and more constrained by the boundary. He noted how long it took the warrior to regain his balance after being knocked off center. Gravity was not a giant’s friend.

Nappa spat blood on the ground and complained. "That's damn a foul!"

“There’s no bell, you smooth-brained ape. It’s a fair hit, pay a-fucking-ttention.” Called Vegeta from his seat outside the ring. Raditz sauntered over and poured himself in the chair next to him, blue canteen in hand. Vegeta cocked his head towards the other, while keeping his eyes on the match. “Christ, how many times have I told him? Swear, he thinks his power level absolves him of his stupidity.” Vegeta caught sight of Raditz’s canteen out of the corner of his eye and whipped towards him. “I told you to put that away!”

Raditz belched. “Aw, c’mon, Vegeta. We’re in the middle of nowhere on Mount Bumfuck and I haven’t seen a nice pair of tits since Mi’am. Let me enjoy my brother’s fight.” Vegeta made a disapproving noise and crossed his arms, acquiescing, and refocused on the fight. Nappa was in his feelings now, launching sweeping punches and kicks like an angry orangutan. No plan, only blind rage. Kakarot avoided the giant's swinging deftly, sometimes barely, but was careful not to let himself get cornered at the perimeter.

On the sideline, Raditz continued: “Besides, it’s mostly coffee. You want some?” The liquid sloshed as it was thrust forward. Vegeta considered it for a moment, liking the idea of coffee. He took an exploratory sip and promptly choked when the nasty concoction burned his tongue. He managed to get it down. 

“Holy hell, something’s wrong with you, drinking that piss.” Vegeta sneered pushing the canteen away. Raditz only sniggered. 

In the ring, Goku weaved around Nappa’s far-reaching blows. They were becoming more frantic with each dodge. A smile pulled at Goku’s lips; he was getting under Nappa’s skin and soon he would elicit a mistake. But he steadied his confidence: it would only take one good hit from Nappa to knock him out. He had to be strategic. Engaging his opponent head on would be suicidal.

Nappa charged him. Goku moved to leap over him, but as he looked down at his opponent from above, he realized Nappa had anticipated the jump. He caught only a flash of a nasty smirk before the burly man opened his mouth and blasted him with a chi beam. It hit Goku in the chest and sent him careening in mid air towards the perimeter. Goku cursed himself for always getting surprised by the dragon’s breath technique. It was a favorite of Nappa's, but he'd never seen another fighter do it before him. He was used to avoiding fists and feet, not mouths. Goku watched the ground rush beneath him in slow motion, feeling the win slip from his fingers. Then he remembered the pole strapped to his back. 

He whipped it out, screaming, “Power pole extend!” As he lanced the ground with it, slowing his momentum. He skidded to a stop inches before the ring’s edge. The pole was firmly staked in the ground and he hung onto it, a bit stunned at his luck. He looked down at Nappa from about 10 feet in the air. 

Nappa took his eyes off his opponent for the second time, flailing a hand in Goku’s direction. “What the hell is this? He’s got a weapon!”

Vegeta shot back from the stands. “He’s in bounds. Get your head out of your ass!”

Quickly, Goku climbed to the top of the pole, clamoring to balance on the top of it. He gave Nappa a little salute, and the pole ascended into the sky. With the sun at high noon, everyone was blinded. Kakarot had effectively disappeared into the clouds.

“Vegeta, are you kidding me?” Nappa screeched again.

Vegeta splayed his arms in a way that asked,  _ what are you asking me for?  _ On his right, Raditz craned his neck to the sky, and wondered aloud,

“What the hell is he doing?”

“Distracting him.” Vegeta continued more to himself, pensively: "When you face a superior opponent, aim to confuse him, so that he may leave his defenses open. It would seem despite his vacant expression, Kakarot has been listening to me."

Raditz brought his attention back to the ground-fight and jolted in surprise, grabbing Vegeta’s shoulder. "Look!"

Goku was on the ground between Nappa's feet, tying the behemoth's boot laces together.

Nappa’s back was still to Goku, attention on the power pole. He gripped it and shook it with all his might, squinting into the sky and wondering why his opponent wasn’t falling. Goku had more than enough time to jump back towards the center of the ring unnoticed. Patience exhausted, Nappa ripped the pole from the ground and watched it topple into the woods. He dusted his hands off with a triumphant grunt.

“Well, he’s out of bounds now. Wherever he fell.” 

Goku gave a lilting whistle from behind him. Nappa spun around just in time to receive a chi blast to the chest. He deflected it and it evaporated harmlessly, but the force of the beam had done all it needed to: it knocked the giant off balance. This time Nappa's tangled laces prevented him from stepping back and catching himself. He tripped gracelessly and fell on his back with a thud. He sat up, gawking at his feet.

He was out of bounds. 

Raditz leapt up and cheered. "Ayo! Kakarot with the magic stick!"

Vegeta called blithely from his throne: "Fantastic work, Kakarot. Nappa, you are a total asshat. Raditz! Stop celebrating and get in the ring."

"Absolute cheat!" Nappa crowed.

"All war is deception. The whole secret is in confusing the enemy, so he never understands your true intent. Do you think Frieza will play fairly and predictably?"

Nappa ripped his boots from his feet, swinging them over his shoulder to hang by the knot. "He will not."

"Then consider it a lesson. Had it been a real fight, you would be dead." Vegeta spat. Nappa lumbered over and sat on the log, knowing the canvas camping chair would only buckle under his weight.

"I wasn't considering the possibility of extending magic poles!"

From the ring, Raditz chuckled and grabbed his crotch, 'I've got an extending magic pole for you!"

Goku had retrieved the power pole and reverted it to his normal size. He replaced it in its sheath on his back. "Really? Where'd you get yours? My grandpa gave me mine."

Raditz stretched his left triceps behind his neck. "Oh, sweet, simple Kakarot."

Goku shrugged sheepishly and trotted back to the center of the ring, dropping once again into his stance.

"Hate to say it, brother, but you got lucky. It's not going to happen again for you."

"I don't expect you to go easy on me. And," Goku cringed a bit. "Nappa got me good in the chest. Really stings." He joked, and Raditz noticed the tear in his gi, the blistered skin visible under the torn neckline. Blood speckled the orange fabric.

"Do not point your enemy to your weaknesses, Kakarot!" Vegeta called from his vantage point outside the ring, rubbing his temple.

"Thanks for the tip." Raditz quipped, springing forth and shooting a blow straight for his brother's chest. Goku spun away, lacing his fingers at the top of his head and bringing his fists down like a hammer at the base of Raditz' neck. Raditz took a face plant in the dirt, but kept moving, getting to his knees and punching Kakarot in his exposed gut. Goku wretched and stumbled backwards. Raditz got waveringly to his feet. They circled each other.

On the sideline, Nappa groused: "I think he meant to point him there."

Vegeta pursed his lips. "Correct." He rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers in thought for a moment. Then he turned to Nappa on the log. "Do you think this country-dipshit act is a rouse? Has he been fucking with us this entire time?"

Nappa hocked a loogie and spat it into the brush behind him. "If he ever had a bright idea, it’d be beginner’s luck." He sucked at the cut on his lip and spat blood again. “But not in a fight. He’s got great instincts, I’ll give him that.”

Vegeta smirked. "Still think it's a waste of time to be here?"

Nappa passed him a begrudging look. "No. You were right... about Kakarot being a worthwhile recruit. But something's in the water on Earth.” Vegeta had an inexplicable feeling of anticipation as he watched Nappa search for the words. “That cloud he rides.. the day he came back fresh as a daisy after getting beat within an inch of his life, then wouldn’t explain how… now magic poles… The place reeks of old magic…" Nappa shook his head and trailed off.

The hair on the back of Vegeta’s neck stood on end. He had sensed the same thing, but to hear another voice it made it feel a bit more real. "What sort?"

Nappa shrugged a shoulder and took a sip from his water bottle. "I don't know. Don't encounter it much these days. But there's no good reason why Earth has gone under the radar for so long. She must have a Guardian. Or some other kind of benefactor."

"A Godling?" Vegeta said before he could bite it back. Saiya had been kept safe by such in the past. It was said, at least in the legends, a goddess had blessed them with their abilities- the super strength, the Oozaru form, the Legendary transformation… though the gods were mostly dead now, and so were most of the Saiyan.

"Doubtful. The humans themselves are worthless. But someone's watching out for Earth, and perhaps Kakarot in particular."

Vegeta fell silent, contemplating.

In the ring, Goku and Raditz were evenly matched. Both sported bruises and gashes and both were panting. Raditz was regretting chugging his spirits; he needed his balance against Kakarot more than he was willing to admit, but the whiskey had him wobbling and nauseas. He landed a good kick to his brother's ribs, which had Goku sliding on the side of his foot dangerously close the boundary. He managed to stay inside and bounced back from another direction. The constant spinning to defend soon had Raditz losing his faculties.

Goku of course had noticed his opponent's dizziness and was capitalizing. He attacked from every direction, sometimes taking damage, but always keeping Raditz turning, and turning, and turning. Raditz soon became desperate to stop the whiplash and charged Goku. When Raditz came close enough to swing, Goku ducked out of the way. Raditz had to scramble to stop his momentum before he flung himself over the ring's edge. But he was too drunk. Goku kicked out the back of one of his knees and Raditz buckled, tumbling out of bounds.

Goku threw his hands up in victory. "I did it!" He yelled, dancing and skipping before wincing and holding his ribs. Raditz rolled up to sit on his knees, groaning at the spinning world and covering his face with his hands. Vegeta whipped the canteen from across the ring and dinged Raditz in the head. He squawked and fell to his back in a flourish of leaves.

"That's what you get for drinking all morning. Unbelievable!" Vegeta berated. "You two are an absolute disgrace! Bested by someone so obviously your inferior!" He got out of his chair and shrugged on his armor. "As always, leave it to me to hold the GODDAMN bar!" Vegeta marched into the ring, vein bulging in his head.

Goku gulped. On the one hand, it was to his advantage that Vegeta was already fuming. On the other, he was terribly thirsty and in pain. 

He panted, "Hey, Vegeta, maybe we can break? I already proved myself. Maybe some lunch and then we can fight?"

Vegeta smirked. “When the enemy is tired, make him toil.” 

Goku unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and sighed, sinking into his stance for the third time. But Vegeta struck before he fully sunk, striking the other’s ankle and breaking his posture. He grabbed Kakarot’s right hand and bent it painfully at the wrist, dragging him to face Raditz and Nappa on the sideline. Goku hissed in pain. 

“Both of you allowed Kakarot to take this defensive posture. Next time, strike first and break it!” 

Vegeta released Kakarot and dumped him on the ground. The rookie made a noise of frustration and got back to his feet. Vegeta easily danced around every attack the other threw at him. Eventually, Vegeta found an opening and hammered an elbow to his opponent’s kidney, earning a screech from Kakarot as he tumbled to the dirt. Vegeta ripped the pole from his back and chucked into the woods. 

“Nappa, you allowed him to district you. You lost sight of your opponent. Keep your eyes on your enemy and eliminate distractions.”

Goku strained to get to his feet. He couldn’t take another blow like that; he had to keep moving. He evaded Vegeta for a few minutes, but he knew Vegeta was only inviting him to tire himself out. When Goku was good and heaving, Vegeta jumped into the air and sent a barrage of chi attacks that forced Goku to one end of the ring. 

“Raditz, you allowed Kakarot to evade you. You could have herded him to the end of the ring if you made an aerial attack instead. The expert in battle moves the enemy, and is not moved by him.” Vegeta touched down and stood over Kakarot, who lay wincing on the ground. “Had enough yet or should I roll you over the line?” 

Goku laughed. “Not yet.” He said weakly, fisting a handful of lush, dark soil and whipping it into Vegeta’s smug face. Vegeta cringed away, swiping dirt from his eyes and mouth. 

“You son of a bitch!” Vegeta cursed, dusting away the grime. Then horror.

A pink and brown worm wriggled harmlessly on his breastplate. 

When Vegeta looked down and saw it, he let loose a girlish keen. With frantic fingers he attempted to remove it, but the slimy feel of it on his fingers made him gag. It finally fell away, but Vegeta was already choking and dry heaving. He ran to a nearby tree and leaned against it as he wretched. He had known at breakfast someone would be puking at lunch- he never imagined it would be him.

Goku sat up and blinked. Slowly, he turned to Raditz and Nappa on the sidelines who looked on with mouths agape. Vegeta was out of bounds. Goku snorted and began to laugh. This set Raditz off, who desperately bit his lip to keep the laugher in, but it escaped in hisses and squeaks. Nappa covered his whole face with his hands, but his shoulders shook silently. 

“Oh my god.” Raditz wheezed. Nappa removed his hands from his face, having straightened out his expression. 

They both turned expectant eyes on Vegeta.

“Oh boy, here we go.” Nappa sighed heavily. 

“Did I just win?” Goku shouted, oblivious. He jumped to his feet, pointing giddily. “Vegeta, you’re out of bounds! I- I won! I DID IT!”

Vegeta turned, his eyes still watering. “You have won.” He advanced on Goku with an expression Goku had never seen before, but it was quite frightening. “But ask yourself, at what cost?” Vegeta powered up, an aura whipping up the forest debris. 

“Oh, he’s got shark eyes.” Raditz muttered. Then shouted, “Run, Rottie!” 

Goku took a few stuttering steps backwards. “But I won! What’s wrong?”

Nappa motioned for him to run, for once looking concerned for him. It was enough to make Goku feel nervous. Vegeta shot a chi blast aimed directly for his head. Goku only barely dodged, the force of it ruffling his bangs as he turned just millimeters out of its path. The heat of the beam singed his nose hairs. It was a blast that could have seriously hurt him, perhaps even killed him. Belatedly, Goku was aware of the sound of a tree cracking and falling with an ear-splitting noise. His heart raced, adrenaline pumping into his aching body. He turned and ran into the forest, Vegeta at his heels. 


	3. Chapter 3

_~ Bulma ~_

Despite her history with the place, Bulma always had at least a little trouble finding Kame House. She’d probably re-mapped the damn tiny island a half dozen times, swearing up and down it was _moving_ . But its coordinates were never far _enough_ off that she could definitively prove anything. 

By now she was simply in the habit of searching it’s general area, instead of heading straight to where it last was. That said, the day was already more than half-gone by the time she spotted the tiny beach house. Her swing by Mount Paozu took longer than she’d intended, Chichi insisting on catching up instead of simply accepting her invitation. Bulma didn’t mind though, she knew Chichi had her own way of ordering her world, and was not to be crossed in that respect. It had been nice to see Gohan too, who seemed to be a head taller and starting to come out of his shell a bit, which was always nice to see. She wished she’d had a chance to chat with Goku, but apparently he’d been staying busy occupying their ‘guests.’ Oh well, as long as he showed up at her party Bulma was good. 

Her airship tossed up a blast of sand as it landed, announcing her arrival with the usual gravitas. There was a small ruckus inside the shack, before the door flew open a familiar stocky monk dashed out. Bulma smiled warmly at Krillin as she hopped down out of her airship, one the monk easily returned. 

“Hey Bulma! What’s new?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she replied smoothly, strutting across the sand, “just kicking off a new technological revolution with a bit of a bash, you know.” She smiled with teeth. 

“Oh, is that all?” Krillin chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Mind if I come in?”

“Sure thing!”

Stepping into the beach house, Bulma took a quick glance around. Everything had been shuffled a bit since her last visit but the energy hadn’t changed. Open, breezy, simple. White wood and red cushions making up most of the furniture with bits of thatch here and there for good measure. Not a lot of extra acoutremon decorating the place, and what few nicknacks there were lying about were random and mis-matched. Clearly sentimental. The windows open, the room full of light. A surprisingly ideal little beach house. It wasn’t even that messy (aside from the dumpster fire of an old man channel-surfing on one of the couches) which Bulma suspected was largely due to Krillin. The bald monk strode quickly across the living room and around a corner, disappearing as Roshi stirred.

“Bulma! How nice of you to join us!” 

Electing to ignore him, Bulma instead let out a short huff. “Drat. I was hoping Yamcha would be here. He isn’t answering my calls.” 

“No, yeah,” Krillin called from the kitchen, “He hasn’t been by since he signed on with the Titans. Guess he’s been busy.” Krillin’s head poked around the corner. “Beer?”

“Sure.” Bulma suppressed a small frown. She had no idea how they brewed that shit _blue_ and she didn’t want to know. 

“I’m surprised you don’t know where he is,” the old hermit commented as Krillin came over and handed her a cold bottle. “I thought he was living with you.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” Bulma half-mumbled, taking a swig. “Though to be fair, I’ve been buried in my lab the last few weeks. Ya know, changing the course of history and all.” 

“So you’ve been hinting,” Krillin smirked from his new perch on one of the couch arms. “Care to share with the class?” 

“Well, that’s the thing,” Bulma replied sweetly, taking another sip. “I’m gonna tell everyone at once. At my party.” 

Roshi sat up in interest. “Oh?” 

Bulma’s mouth twitched downwards. “It’s just gonna be me and the Z fighters.”

“Oh.” Roshi sat back. 

Bulma rolled her eyes. 

“Still sounds like a blast to me,” Krillin said peaceably. “When and where?” 

“Mike’s Grill and Bar. Tomorrow night.” 

“Mike’s huh? You rent the whole place out?” Krillin grinned mischievously. 

“Ugh, I wish. ‘Not enough notice,’ they said. I even offered to pay double and they still said no, can you believe that?”

“Man, you sure have it rough,” the monk replied evenly. 

“Right? Well, whatever, we’ll just have to slum it. It shouldn’t be too busy. Hopefully.”

“I think we’ll survive.” 

Bulma’s eyes narrowed at Krillin’s dry smile. 

“Speak for yourself,” Roshi’s creaky voice piped up, and he gestured to the tv. The flipping channels had finally paused, landing on a news network notorious for gossip. Bulma’s eyes flitted over to the screen, and her heart squeezed, leaping up into her throat. 

There, on the screen, for all the world to see, was Yamcha. Making out with someone who was _definitely_ not her. 

“Oh shit,” Krillin mumbled.

The beer bottle in her hand cracked. 

-Vegeta-

Vegeta was still in a right sour mood by dinner. The backyard of the Son’s cottage was lit by a fire pit where the Saiyan crew gathered along with Kakarot’s wife and child. Kakarot and Raditz were helping Gohan burn some kind of sticky confection on a stick. Kakarot helped the boy blow out the small flame on the dessert and encouraged him to eat it right off the spear of yard debris. Vegeta made a face. 

“This is pretty good,” Said Raditz, wiping his chin. “What is it again, a mushmallow?” 

“A marshmallow.” ChiChi corrected him, bending over and vigorously swiping her son’s face with a wet-wipe. She ignored his squirming and held him firmly before releasing him. He ran back over to his father who had started eating the puffy treats straight out of the bag, his cheeks as full as a squirrel’s. “It’s just whipped sugar and gelatin- you can’t go wrong.” 

Vegeta wanted to leave. He put all his energy into bouncing his knee quietly as he brooded. He had eaten the food, choked down the “healing” tea (which did seem to have an effect, curiously), and now he wanted to … he didn’t know. Normally he would be at the barrack’s gym or drowning his rage in a bottle. Funny that Earth was meant to be an escape, at the moment it felt more like a cage. What was he supposed to do? Punch a tree in the dark? Pace the forest at night? Drink herbal tea and fall asleep in his chair like an octogenarian? He was a pissed off Saiyan! This quietude was practically torture.

Nappa shifted beside him. “What the hell did they put in that tea, do you wonder?”

Vegeta remained unmoving except for the knee, but slid his eyes to his compatriot. Nappa ran his tongue along the outside of his front teeth. “My split lip is completely healed, not even a bruise…”

A muscle flexed in Vegeta’s jaw. He didn’t want to speculate on the strange happenings of Earth at the moment. If he was honest, it just fed his already turbulent mood, and he was as wound up as he could reasonably get without flying off the handle. All three of them had fallen to Kakarot. All fucking three. Was this challenge to Frieza going to be some heinous farce? What an absolute joke. Some prince he was. Avenge his people against the terror Lord Frieza? Tsh, fat chance when apparently, a tailless inbred with a room temperature IQ could best him.

Nappa considered the prince’s taut profile and pressed no further. When Vegeta’s mood went dark, there was little anyone could do to stop the spiral. He had always been like this. Even as a kid, especially as a kid, the smallest mistake, the slightest embarrassment would send him hurtling into catastrophic thinking - he wasn’t good enough, he should be better, how could he be so stupid? It wasn’t enough to be a perfect prince, he imagined himself a messiah, and every mistake was whisper that it wasn’t true. Nappa knew he shouldn’t be surprised; Vegeta had been promised so much and it had all been taken away. Really, they were all a bit paranoid of someone or something stepping on their last scraps of pride and hope- the only things they had that survived the destruction of Saiya. Raditz avoided reflection and drank and partied instead. Vegeta gorged himself on visions of grandeur and revenge. And Nappa… well, Nappa was an old man comparatively, and so he was a bit more accepting of the cruelty and randomness of the wheel of fortune. The best he could do was keep both boys— _lord, were they men already?_ — somewhat sane. 

He sighed, cracking his back and then his knuckles. Vegeta was about to turn and bark at him to stop making so much noise, but his attention was pulled across the fire pit. Raditz was pushing Kakarot towards him. 

The younger Saiyan gave Vegeta a sort of grimacing smile as he ambled up. The other two had to pull him off the oaf earlier, and it did give him slight satisfaction that Kakarot now seemed a bid skittish. The younger man fumbled over his words. “So, uh, Vegeta, how about that favor you promised me? You know… for … uh, winning ‘n all?”

Nappa balked at the timing and started to tell them off, but Raditz hushed him urgently. 

Vegeta closed his eyes and through his teeth demanded: “What of it?”

Kakarot twiddled his thumbs. “Well, my friend- my city friend- invited us to a party. At a restaurant…”

Raditz interjected: “Read: a bar with liquor.” He gave his brother an encouraging gesture to continue.

“And there’ll be food and stuff and I thought, well, me and Raditz thought, it’d be fun, you know, if we all went…? And you can meet my friends.” He gave an uncertain smile that crinkled his eyes. Raditz was staring maniacally over his brother’s shoulder, blinking at Vegeta in anticipation.

Vegeta turned a cool glare at Nappa. “What do _you_ say to that?” 

Nappa paused, knowing these questions were sometimes a test- an opportunity for him to side with his ward, or step in shit with the other and have Vegeta berating them both. But there were other times, and he sensed this was one of them, that Vegeta was looking for guidance or a fatherly nudge. Nappa quite liked being consulted. 

“Well, we hardly deserve to be celebrating after today.” Nappa started, then passed a conciliatory look to Raditz over Goku’s shoulder. “… but if we’re talking about morale, I think a night out would do us some good.”

Vegeta tucked his chin and looked down at his crossed arms for a moment. He noticed he had been clenching his teeth for about four hours, and his jaw was getting sore. Finally, he uncrossed his arms and nodded. 

“Fine. I could use a drink.”


	4. Chapter 4

The place was noisy and smelled of burnt fryer oil and cigarette smoke, even outside. Kakarot called it a beer garden. It was more like a gravelly pit packed with painfully regular-looking people holding plastic cups and cackling. To the left was a small stage with an awning where a drummer sat idling and a man with a guitar bent over to fiddle with an amp. Beyond that was a sea of people gathered around wooden tables, the area illuminated by string lights that ran from the shanty stage and criss-crossed around overhead towards a red building that looked squat and dilapidated against the backdrop of West City’s towering skyscrapers. Drinks and trays of food were being slung out of a take out window with great fervor.

Raditz was immediately enthralled. He took a long inhale and sighed, “Mm, you smell that?”

“Shit-tier beer and pit stains?” Vegeta rumbled, crossing his arms. 

Raditz exhaled dreamily. “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

Nappa’s neck swung to follow a waitress with a pile of wings in a plastic red basket. “Yes.” Was all he said, more to the food than to Raditz’s statement.

Kakarot shoved a hand in his pocket and flipped open a clam-shell phone. He was the only one with civilian clothes that fit properly; the remaining trio of Saiyans had to accept his hand-me-downs in order to pass as normal in a human setting. 

Vegeta was swimming in Kakarot’s green pseudo-military jacket and graphic t-shirt. The pants had been an absolute humiliation- the jeans had to be rolled three times into a cuff before Vegeta could even see his feet. He eventually had to settle for a pair of ChiChi’s black sweatpants, which he was horrified to find had the word “Juicy '' splashed across the ass. (She insisted they had been a gift and she never wore them.) It was only acceptable because the jacket hid the slogan and looked like a normal pair of black sweatpants otherwise. Besides, he much preferred the elastic for his tail’s sake, which was comfortably hidden under the baggy clothes.

Raditz fared a bit better, but the white button-down Kakarot had lent him threatened to pop if he forced it closed around his barrel chest, so he had to leave it unbuttoned almost to the navel. The jeans were a bit too tight as well. He managed to look less distracting by adding a roomier blue bomber jacket that somewhat detracted from the obscene tightness of everything else. Finally, he tied his wild mane into a loose braid. ChiChi remarked he looked like the unsettling love child of Khal Drogo and Gene Simmons, but no one understood the reference.

Nappa, of course, had been a problem, so ChiChi had to go into the attic and pull out a dusty box of her father’s clothes. Nappa ended up looking like he’d arrived in a time machine from a prohibition era gang with his pin-striped creased pants and suspenders over a cream-colored button down; worse than that, he smelled like moth balls. Raditz complained of the chalky chemicals every time he stood downwind of him. 

Kakarot frowned at his outdated phone and put it back in his jacket pocket. “My friend is kinda hard to find in a crowd, maybe we should just get a table?”

They wandered through the crowd until they came upon an open one. Vegeta observed the people with a cringe- a game of jenga at a rowdy table had resulted in a cup of beer sloshed in his shoes. Raditz had snatched an unguarded menu from a gaggle of tipsy women behind them and began ordering: four pitchers of beer, eight shots of jager, and a basket of every kind of wing available. The waitress looked surprised, and then quite pleased, and bounced off after leaving a card holder with a number sticking out of it. 

Vegeta squinted across the table at Kakarot. “You don’t have any money.” It wasn’t a question.

Kakarot pursed his lips and pushed them to the side. “My friends will. Hey, there’s one!” 

Vegeta raised a brow and turned to see a petite bald man approach, carrying a chilli dog and a beer.

Kakarot bypassed a fist bump and got up to give the smaller man a hug, into which the other nearly disappeared.

“Hey, hey, the beer, the beer!” The newcomer said, muffled against Kakarot’s stomach, maneuvering his arms to keep it from spilling. Once released, he sidled up to the table and put everything down. 

Kakarot introduced him, “Guys, this is my buddy Krillin; Krillin this is my brother and his friends- um, his bosses? Raditz, Nappa, and Vegeta. Vegeta’s a prince.” He put a hand up to shield his indiscreet aside to Krillin: “He gets mad if you don’t say that.”

Krillin blinked. “Hey! You know, we weren’t really surprised to find out Goku is an alien. But maybe a little scared there are more of you!” He paused to give a nervous laugh, then continued more seriously: “Do you guys do that thing on the full moon, too?”

“It’s called an Oozaru. And yes.” Vegeta clipped, humorless and irritated by the beer soaking his left sock. He turned to Kakarot and deadpanned: “Why are you hanging out with a 12-year-old? Are you some kind of pedophile or are you just looking for conversation on your grade-level?”

Both Raditz and Nappa dissolved into snorting laughter. Kakarot’s brows hitched, but Krillin took it graciously, returning a sarcastic: “Har har. I’m 25, thanks.” 

Raditz took a gasping breath. “Oh my god, you’re like a little Nappa. Nappa, look, he’s your mini-me!”

Nappa enjoyed the comparison, reaching his fist across the table. Krillin bumped it cautiously. “I always appreciate another baldie. Do you fight, little man?”

Krillin took a sip of his ale. “It’s Krillin. And yes, I grew up training with Goku.” Vegeta made a derisive noise that went mostly unnoticed as the waitress arrived with the drinks and food. Krillin shot Kakarot a questioning look, and Kakarot shrugged, assuring him that either Bulma or Yamcha would pick up the tab when they arrived. 

Krillin raised his brows. “If they ever get here. They’re at each other’s throats.”

“What else is new?” Kakarot said, cleaning a chicken wing in one good pull. He sucked sauce from his thumb. “They better come, it’s my brother’s first fun night on Earth!” 

Krillin patted the front pocket on his t-shirt. “Yamcha gave me his card on the way in. He’s on the phone in the parking lot trying to get her down here.” Kakarot gave him a shrug, as if saying, see, no problem! “He told me to go easy on it though, he’s only got a small advance on his contract.” 

“The baseball thing?” 

“Yea, he just got officially signed with the West City Titans. 20 million zenni.”

“Oh gosh, don’t tell ChiChi that or she’ll make me play.” 

Krillin gulped on his beer. “It’s weird. People have been mobbing him- reporters, fangirls, fanboys, kids. I stepped out of the car, and there’s guys snapping photos of him from the bushes. Don’t be surprised if it gets weird when he shows up.” 

Kakarot was about to respond that he understood why Bulma was angry - she liked the spotlight for herself, and she was also pretty possessive. Yamcha the celebrity athlete was a big change from Yamcha the poor, no-name orphan that stole for survival. It was left unsaid because Raditz interjected, and pulled Kakarot into the parallel conversation on the other side of the table.

“Kakarot, grab your pitcher. We’re going to chug- to a night of debauchery and drink and full bellies. Vegeta, grab your pitcher, don’t be grumpy.”

Krillin shook his head at Kakarot, reminding him what happened at the rehearsal dinner of his wedding. And then again at the reception. Raditz argued:

“Don’t discourage him. He’s a good little boy, and his mate’s just handed him his balls back for the occasion - and he deserves a night of good Saiyan fun.” Kakarot sighed in the background, wondering why they all kept saying ChiChi had his balls in her purse. 

Krillin shot back: “You gonna babysit him, then?”

Raditz gave him an incredulous look. “Of course I will, he’s my baby brother! Vegeta!” Raditz lamented again. “Grab your pitcher. You have to sanction my toast. This is a royal occasion.”

Vegeta unfolded his arms in a huff and grabbed his pitcher. He squared his shoulders, raising the plastic container and said: 

“To debauchery, drink, and death to Frieza.”

Nappa pounded a fist on the table, and the four of them upended the pitchers and opened their gullets, draining them in the span of a few good seconds. Krillin looked concerned for a moment, but, given Raditz had taken the responsibility for Kakarot’s inevitable behavior, shrugged his shoulders and finished his chili dog. Kakarot came up gasping for air before belching loud enough to shake the windows, if there had been any. Nappa answered the call with his own burp. 

Raditz said, “Now the shots!” And they took those, too. Krillin sucked his teeth in wordless disapproval. 

Vegeta pushed away from the table. 

“I’m going over there.” He said, inclining his head towards the far end of the beer garden, where there was an area for axe throwing. He couldn’t take the merry chitchat, not alongside his horrible day training and his suspicions about Earth occupying his mind. If he had to hear another one of Raditz’s drinking stories or the stupid limericks Nappa always pulled out when drunk, he was going to blow the whole city up. Perhaps his men needed the distracting, but all he wanted to do was stew and brood. He heard them continue behind him:

“What’s his problem?”

“He needs to get laid.”

“Let the liquor hit his stomach, he’ll come back in a better mood.”

“What’s a Kakarot?”

Then, the conversation dissolved into the din of the crowd. 

Vegeta crunched through the gravel and approached the booths at the backend of the beer garden’s lot. There was some chain link fencing around the stables, and the opposing walls sported wooden targets. A couple of burly guys were arguing over a bet. He talked to a pimply teenager that handed over a few dull hatchets. 

“Wait, wait!” He called as Vegeta turned to play. “It’s ten bucks per round.” 

Vegeta swung the hatchets onto his shoulder. “Put it on their tab,” He said, nodding to the leather and jean clad hooligans. The teenager gave him a suspicious look, but relented with an expression that said, ‘your funeral.’ 

Vegeta sauntered up to the men. “I have a wager for you.” 

“The fuck do you want, pipsqueak?” Said the one with the gnarly beard, immediately defending his masculinity.

Vegeta barely held back the urge to roll his eyes. “I just said, genius, I have a wager for you.” The three looked on expectantly, confused by the slight man’s lack of intimidation. “I bet you 100 zenni I can hit a bullseye in each of these stalls. Blindfolded. Takers?”

There was a chuckle from the group. Then, 

“What do we get if you fuck that up?” Said the one with a bandana wrapped around his forehead. 

Vegeta reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two wrinkled twenties he’d plucked from a check presenter left open on one of the tables he passed. “That’s all I have.” 

Bandana and Gnarly Beard looked to the last member, the apparent leader, a man with a curly afro and a gold chain tangled in his ample chest hair. He was a loud talker with a phony laugh. He said coolly: “I’d like to see it. Sounds like an easy 40 bucks. Give him your bandana, Black Jack. No- you idiot! Tie it on him. Make sure he can’t see.” 

Vegeta easily won the bet to the group's amazement. With each smack of the hatchet in the red center of the targets, they yelled louder. When he finished he took the bandana off and pinched it between his fingers, slightly disgusted with the rag. The one called Black Jack snatched it back and, affixing it around his forehead, demanded: 

“What are you, some kinda ninja?”

Vegeta held out his hand. “Money.” 

“Jeez, Hercule, this dude just cheated you out of 100 bucks.” 

“Shut up.” Said the curly haired guy, handing over a crisp bill. They attempted a few rounds to wager it back, and when they finally left, Vegeta had 250 zenni, which he spent on a top-shelf bottle of bourbon and another half-hour of axe throwing. He was beginning to feel quite warm in the belly and tingly in the head when he hopped over the divider to collect his axes again. The repetitive, violent action was starting to lull him into a sense of calm. 

“You’re pretty good at that, huh?” Came a woman’s voice at the head of the stall. Vegeta dropped one of the hatchets as he started and turned. He paused as he bent to pick it up. She looked as nice as she sounded, her black dress hiked up as she leaned a hip on the divider, revealing a silken thigh. The dress and makeup were simple, which was unsurprising; women with eyes and lips and bodies like that didn’t need to put in much effort towards any illusions. 

“Yeah…” Vegeta said, hopping the divider once more. He gave her a sidelong glance. She waited for him to expand; he only watched her lips pull on the black straw of her cocktail. 

“Not much of a talker, are you?” She wondered, and something about the cut of her smirk was a bit cruel. Vegeta liked that. But he knew she had no reason to like him. Perhaps years ago, when he had all his hair, he’d believe it. Hell, it was easy back then. Now? Chsh. Women like her had men taking numbers. He might have the game to persuade her, but he wasn’t interested in the effort when there were cute women in his league that didn’t need to be convinced. Besides, he hadn’t thought about the pursuit of sex much since before his stint in solitary confinement. The thought sent a twang of nausea through him, as it always did. He tried to keep a tight lid on those memories. And here some rando came, unearthing them unexpectedly. 

“I’m not buying you a drink, so… you can get lost.” Vegeta clipped, chucking an axe at the target. It landed with a dull thud. He had hoped it would represent a punctuation to his statement, but her blue eyes only widened a fraction. She probably wasn't used to being rebuffed. But she didn’t move. Instead, she giggled. 

“I can buy my own drinks, thanks.” She pointed with her chin at the squat bottle of bourbon on the ledge of the barrier. “Maybe I can buy you one. Looks like you’re getting low.” 

She didn’t flinch as he came up for the next throw, a little harder than the last. Vegeta was confused. He turned to her fully, balancing the last hatchet on its head and leaning on its handle and took her in with a discerning eye. Pretty, as he’d already noticed. Long blue hair, shiny and blown out. Nice, form-fitting dress. Strappy little wedges- sexy but still sensible, considering how many women he’d noticed with heels breaking their ankles in the gravel. Pedicure. Manicure. A nice collection of glittering rings on her fingers. Diamond studs in her ears. A well-made black leather purse at her hip. 

So she was rich and gorgeous. Now he was as intrigued as he was suspicious.

He betrayed a grin before pressing his lips together solemnly. “What do you _really_ want, woman?”

Her eyelashes fluttered as her eyes gleamed in the low light. “Well now,” she started, and he watched her as she opened the small bag on her hip and procured a cigarette. She took her time, his time, lighting it and taking a drag. She blew the acrid smoke over her shoulder. “Cute _and_ self-aware. Rare combo for your sex.” She flicked the cigarette and ash floated by him on the crisp autumn air.

Vegeta swallowed reflexively, but made no other reaction despite the fact he could feel the heat rise to his cheeks. He grabbed the bottle behind him and took a swig. There was no other way to describe it: this was weird. 

She smiled slyly. “You some kind of detective?” 

Vegeta snorted and took a shuddering breath. Then, more smoothly: “No. I’m a prince.” 

This she genuinely laughed at, throwing her head back and grabbing his shoulder to steady herself. The pale column of her throat exposed, leading his eyes like a runway to her cleavage. He shook his head to free his eyes from her breasts, and she tucked her chin again, still giggling. “Prince Charming, I’m sure.”

“Exactly. Get to the point.”

She huffed, but there was no weight to it. “Pushy, pushy! It’s all the same with you men. Get to the point, the faster the better!” Her head wobbled as she mocked him, her hair catching the light and glittering like tinsel. She pulled on the cigarette again. “And here I figured you for a more… _patient_ type.”

Vegeta chuckled. She was laying it on thick. No one had flirted with him like this in years, and while he fought against his natural arrogance- she was clearly after something, and it wasn’t him- it did stroke his ego. “Sounds like the men you know don’t know what they’re doing.” 

“ _Kami_ ,” she groaned with a roll of her eyes. “You have _no_ idea...” She took a long sip of her gin and tonic, ice rattling in the glass, pausing a moment to no doubt savor the burn. “So, here’s the thing. I saw your little show before. Sounds like you’re looking to make a couple bucks.” 

Vegeta made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a grunt.

She fixed him with a straight gaze and a curling smile. “I’ll give you 100 zenni to flirt with me and piss off my boyfriend. He can fight,” she licked her bottom lip. “…but I get the sense you can handle yourself.”

Vegeta wrinkled his nose. “That is a disgusting proposition. What do I look like, some kind of gigolo?” 

The woman laughed without humor. “No, you look like a kid dressed in his older brother’s clothes.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Vegeta spat, turning to chuck the last axe at the target. 

“Okay, wait, wait,” she said, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “500 zenni.” 

Vegeta blinked, shifted his eyes to her once more. “What do I have to do?”

“Make out with me.” 

He paused, letting the weirdness of the situation wash over him. Then, he decided to have some fun with it. 

“3,000.”

She balked. “Are you out of your _fucking_ mind!? Or just blind?! This is your lucky night!” Her immaculate face was pulled up in a snarl, and something about the contrast settled warmly deep in his stomach.

“Three. Thousand. Zenni.” Vegeta tapped a knuckle on the lip of the barrier.

She narrowed her eyes, meeting his unyielding gaze for a long moment. “750. Final offer.” She took a harsher pull on the cigarette, the ember glowing brightly, casting an orange hue to her cheek. 

Vegeta smirked, taking his leave over the barrier again to collect the hatchets from the target at the other end. He twirled one as he walked back the length of the stable, now thoroughly enjoying himself and admittedly quite drunk. He leaned on the barrier from the opposite side, his hand resting close enough to her ass that she glanced down at it. 

“Maybe try your hand with some of the other patrons. Perhaps those guys from before. I’m sure the tooth decay is minimal.” He grinned, showing his straight, white teeth.

She gave a grudging laugh through her nose, but looked out into the crowd as if surveying her options. Eventually she sighed. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Vegeta shrugged, and snatched his bottle for another swig. “If this is my escort debut, it’s not going to be cheap.” 

“Fine.” She relented. “3,000.”

Vegeta choked on the dregs of his bourbon. 

“No way.” He had thrown out the number as a joke.

“Yep. C’mon.” She tilted her wrist to look at the time. “He’s gonna be out front in a bit. He thinks I’m just getting here.”

“Woah, woah, woah. First of all, money up front.” 

Her face darkened, and he felt a shiver of attraction at the thought of making her angry. She ripped open her bag and fished out a wad of bills. “I only have fifteen hundred now. You’ll get the rest if I’m satisfied with the performance.” She punctuated her challenge with a raised eyebrow as she stuffed the folded cash in his front pocket. Vegeta retrieved the cash and counted it. 

_No shit._

“Wow.” He muttered to himself. Then, “You're a bit petty, no?” 

“He’s a cheater. Don’t feel bad for him.” She stood up from her perch on the ledge, making a motion for him to hurry up as she dropped her cigarette and snubbed it with her heel. Vegeta hopped the barrier for the last time. 

“Are you disease free?” He asked seriously. 

Now her eyes flashed in true anger and Vegeta felt an electric pulse race up his spine. “This isn’t normal for me, asshole! Don’t act like you’ve never done something petty for revenge!” 

Vegeta pursed his lips and considered the last sip in his bottle. “You don’t know the half of it.” 

She snorted, satisfied. “I’ll drink to that.” She clinked her glass with his bottle and drained her cup, slamming it down on the ledge. He followed suit and then trailed her through the crowd. He was sober enough to wonder what the hell he was doing and drunk enough to do it anyway.

_~ Bulma ~_

A warm breeze blew through the parking lot, carrying with it the scents of booze, tobacco, and a hint of gasoline, the combination feeding Bulma’s already darkening mood. 

This _damn asshole._

Looking her up and down with those hungry black eyes and then _turning her down_. What made him so damn special? Standing there looking like he got in a fight with a resale shop’s clothing rack then turning around and acting like royalty. Looking down on her, somehow, despite his stature and her 3-inch heels. And then just to laugh at her, he’d hiked up her offer to something truly insane. 

Well, the alcohol had hit her stomach, mixing with her rage just so, and here she was.

It had been spite, pure and simple. She was done being the punchline of anyone’s jokes; you bet your ass she was going to call him on his. Forget him and his stupid clothes and his stupid hungry eyes and his stupid dark smile. He was going to suffer right along with her, even if it did wipe out her pocketbook and then some. 

She drew the stranger out towards her car, knowing Yamcha’d be looking for it. She wasn’t paying 3000 zeni for a snog in a closet. She’d paid for a _show_ and she was damn well going to get it. 

She reached her sporty little cerulean-blue number and turned her back to the hood, facing her mercenary with a practiced stony expression. An expression that remained in place, even as he stepped forward into her space and she draped her arms over his straight shoulders.

One perfectly curved eyebrow twitched upwards as the air between them tightened. 

“You’d better know what you’re doing,” she murmured icily. 

He snorted dismissively. “Talk is cheap.” He paused, then smirked. “...I am not.” 

She bit back a gasp and a small shudder as a strong hand suddenly wrapped around the back of her neck, and he pressed in.

He was _warm_. His lips, yes, warm and surprisingly soft. But the rest of him radiated heat as they shared the space, it seeming to almost wrap around her as he filled her awareness. Her heart began to pick up, even as they both began to settle into a rhythm. 

And then his tongue was pressing into her mouth, and she let it, but only just. As it slipped in she closed her jaw a bit, bringing her teeth down to barely graze his wandering tongue. A growl rumbled up from his chest, and suddenly there was a hand gripping her back and the other slipping upwards to tangle in her hair and _oh._

She felt her skin begin to flush, the night air beginning to turn cool even as she returned his kiss just as hotly, drinking in how _different_ he tasted. There was alcohol, yes, but also salt and black coffee and something else. Something… _coppery_. Deep in Bulma’s hindbrain something flared. 

_Danger_ . **_Danger_ **. 

It drove a shock of adrenaline through her system, nearly making her start, yet she couldn’t make herself care. Instead she pressed forward with her own tastes. Sweet, fruity, smokey, with her own sting of alcohol for good measure, until the flavors all blended together into something ungodly and intoxicating. 

Gods how long had it been? How long since danger laced her every movement like cocaine? How long since she let her prickling skin and pounding pulse drive her into a heady state of reckless oblivion? Her body was _humming_ and she felt _alive_. The old wild child - the one that ran off on insane quests, befriended strange mountain boys and faced down a maddened army - stirred deep inside her once more and she felt a giddy chuckle bubble up from her throat as this impossibly warm stranger pressed in. 

She dove in, hot and angry and reckless, and felt him push back just as much to meet her. It was _war_ and it was _wonderful_. Her perfect fingernails drove through his thick hair even as his warm hand gripped her bare thigh, lifting her up onto the hood of the car before pulling her back against himself. Her pulse was pounding now, in her head but also her hands, and her legs, and...

They broke apart, gasping for air, and Bulma couldn't hold back her shudder as that hot mouth traveled down to her neck, teeth grazing the skin. He lapped and sucked, and she gasped faintly as the fingers tangled in her hair gently pulled, tilting her head back as he ran his tongue up the length of her throat. 

Not to be outdone, she tightened her grip in his hair, and _yanked_ , winning a snarl for her efforts. Still, he lingered, lipped pressed to her jugular a moment longer, before he pulled back to run her through with furious black eyes. She met his gaze with an easy smile, breaths coming in gasps. 

“My lips are up here,” she teased softly. 

“Have it your way,” he growled, and she didn’t miss how the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. 

And he was back, in her mouth, all around her, everywhere. The warmth washed over her again, even as some small, trite corner of her mind wondered how such a small man could seem so big. She swatted the thought away. She was _enjoying_ this, damn it. 

Suddenly, he was gone, jerked away from her, and she felt a sharp twist of _rage_ before her mind cleared enough to see what was happening in front of her. 

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU, ASSHOLE!?” 

Bulma blinked back into the moment, gasping as soon as her eyes landed on a familiar scarred face. One twisted with fury and - she realized with a small jolt - a hint of pain as he and her flame-haired stranger gripped each other’s arms, seemingly both caught mid-strike. 

“Yamcha!” 

“What the fuck, B?!” Yamcha grunted, eyes flicking to her a brief second before returning to glare at the stranger who was, Bulma noticed with mild horror, dangerously close to breaking Yamcha’s arm. 

“Stop it! Stop it RIGHT NOW!” She ordered, gracelessly shoving her way between the two. Then she wheeled on Yamcha. “And like you have any room to talk!!” 

“Excuse me!?” 

“Don’t you play dumb!” she snarled. “I saw you sucking face with that blond bitch! The whole damn planet saw!”

Yamcha sighed in exasperation. “B, like I _said_ , it was just a kiss! And I sure as hell wasn't pawing all over her like that guy was you!” 

Bulma growled. “You started this! Ever since you signed onto the Titans you’ve been running around like some bigshot, prancing for the cameras and soaking up all the adoration like a child!”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you! Bulma Briefs, calling _me_ an attention hog!” 

Bulma felt her face burn bright hot as something awful twisted in her stomach. “ExSCUSE ME!?” 

“Oh, stop pretending like you’re some kind of saint!” Yamcha half-snarled. “Like you don’t soak up every last scrap of praise those media hounds throw at you! And yet, when’s the last time you saw me?! When’s the last time we did ANYTHING together!?” 

“I’ve been busy, you know that!” She snapped back. “This project is important!” 

“Yeah, more important than me,” he replied, his tone softening in an awful way. “Just like all the others.”

Bulma braced against a grimace. “Yamcha, it’s my job,” she sighed. “I can’t put my responsibilities on hold every time you’re in the mood to grab dinner!”

“Yeah?” he stared at her, his widening smile ever so slightly hysteric. “Well then maybe I can’t put my life on hold for weeks on end waiting for you to remember I exist!”

She scowled. “I didn’t forget you, Yamcha!” 

“Right, you just don’t care.”

“I… that’s not what I said! Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“Fine!” He bounced a bit on the balls of his feet, like he always did to hype himself up (some part of her remembered finding that cute once). “You know what, I’ll just stop bothering you. I’ll stop _hounding_ you for dates and interrupting your precious lab work time; how does that sound! In fact, how about I get out of your hair all together!”

“Fine!” 

“FINE!” 

He spun sharply on his heel, marching back across the parking lot, Bulma glaring at his unruly long hair as he went. And some part of her felt the slightest relief, the whole thing poisoning her mood more than she’d realized. Yet…

She couldn’t help but feel like part of her… a good sized part… was walking away. 

Bulma and Yamcha had wethered their fair share of ups and downs over the years. Sometimes he’d leave for long stretches to train (hypocrite), or she’d wind up involved with some strange new adventure, or something. Always something. And it wasn’t like they hadn't broken up before either. But they’d always gotten back together. Always found some common ground, some joke they could both laugh at. Every time, for nearly half her life. The ebb and flow had just become a part of her. 

But this time was different. This time, Bulma had reciprocated. 

She’d never done that before. For all her media representation and general reputation, she’d never so much as kissed someone other than Yamcha, not seriously. Yes, she was gorgeous, and yes, she could be a terrible flirt at times, but she’d never cheated. Even during their break-ups, she’d buried herself in her work to distract herself, as opposed to going around taste-testing lipgloss (an actual excuse he’d tried once). No, Bulma was _loyal._

...until now? 

She hissed into the empty air. He’d started it. The only difference is this time, _she’d_ ended it. On _her_ terms. 

So why were her eyes stinging? 

Bulma braced against her car, one hand gripping at the hood while the other covered her flushed face and mouth, and she let her broken sobs disappear into the warm night breeze.  
  
  


  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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